“Nothing,” said Jake.
“She’s really something,” continued Bucky. “Does she ever talk about me?”
“Out of your league,” said Jake, not caring if he sounded cruel. “Don’t even think about it.”
At the Ben Franklin, Jake filled shopping carts with rolls of fiberglass and eighty packages of white napkins; even though it was picnic season, the manager had to bring more from the storehouse.
At the fabric store, Jake bought feathers, fifteen yards of gauzy netting, five yards of white chiffon, a case of silver glitter, and cotton batting for pillows. Bucky seemed slightly embarrassed when Jake emerged from the aisle with armfuls of white feathers.
After Jake paid, there was still two hundred and fifty dollars left.
“That’s for you,” said Jake.
“Sweet,” said Bucky.
“But you have to do exactly what I tell you.”
“You’re enjoying this too much, kid.”
Laverna had cashed in yet another debt, and an old flatbed truck from the lumber mill was parked in Diane’s garage. It was a huge space, large enough to park three cars, and Bucky could not stop wondering aloud why a single woman needed such a large industrial space.
“Sex dungeon,” said Red Mabel, who was waiting for them, along with Ginger, Shyanne, Rachel, Della, and Martha Man Hands. Ronda was cooking lunch at the Dirty Shame, and Diane was teaching summer school. The Sinclairs were tending to the gas station. Ginger told Rachel that she had to pay the Sinclairs each twenty dollars to ride on the float. Apparently, their new congregation did not celebrate Independence Day.
Jake unveiled his sketches and his design plan. The Flood Girls agreed unanimously that this was a secret worth keeping.
Bucky framed out the flatbed with two-by-fours. As each section went up, Red Mabel and Rachel wrestled the chicken wire flat, and Ginger attached the pieces to the two-by-fours with the staple gun.
Jake and Shyanne followed behind, stuffing the chicken wire, each hole threaded through with a paper napkin. When the framing was done, and all the chicken wire hung, they sat down on Diane’s cold cement floor. They stuffed themselves when Laverna arrived with greasy boxes of fried chicken and french fries.
Jake approached Red Mabel and took her off to the side. She licked the grease from her fingers, as he asked her to begin a special project of her own.
“You’re the best with a knife,” he said, which she could not deny. “This is like whittling, but not pointless.” Jake found wire on one of Diane’s shelves, and Red Mabel began her assignment.
Eight hours later, the entire frame was stuffed with white napkins. Bucky had built a wall behind the cab of the trailer, had given it the illusion of a curve, with some crafty work with the remaining two by fours and a handsaw.
Diane arrived later with cases and cases of beer, and pop for those underage or sober. Work was stopped for the day; once again, the Flood Girls had something to celebrate.
Before he left, Red Mabel grabbed Jake with her strong arms, and kissed him on the forehead.
* * *
Three months, and Jake had become intimate with the Singer. He grew to love the hum as he stitched. He studied the book and consulted the machine’s instruction manual when he was perplexed. He talked to the machine, and Rachel didn’t think it was strange; she left him alone in the sewing corner. Jake and the Singer produced slowly, but he was determined to master the detail work. So far, he had made four potholders, a skirt for Rachel, and two shirts for himself.
Jake found all his material at the thrift store. In the ottoman, Buley hoarded thread for him, half spools in every color. She set aside a seam ripper, and a pincushion. The pincushion was a turtle, and shone with pins that stuck in the felt shell. Jake and Buley could not believe people were willing to part with such things.
Jake discovered a bolt of cotton fabric, sturdy but sheer, the color of the night sky, a dark blue that was almost black. Perfect for curtains, an easy project, which he was thankful for.
Last week, Jake had to admit defeat and call Diane for help with the shirts. Diane spent an hour at Rachel’s house, helping him stitch the buttonholes, lining them up exactly, showing him what he had been doing incorrectly and passing on a few tricks of her own. Diane also attempted to set Rachel up with one of her exes, but she declined as gracefully as possible.
“I’m not ready to date yet,” said Rachel. “But I appreciate the offer.”
“He’s a catch,” said Diane. “He’s been married twice, but one ran away and one died in a freak accident. Crock-Pot explosion. Can you even imagine?”
“I can,” said Rachel. “But no, thanks.”
Jake was curious. “If he’s such a catch, why aren’t you still with him?”